On the Bridge
by Kalira69
Summary: Yama wakes his Captain from a nightmare when he falls asleep on the bridge. (Movie-'verse; pre-slash.)


Though there was no tangible change he could pinpoint - and certainly no sound - some feeling made Yama look around, one hand still caressing the Arcadia's ancient wheel. He froze for a moment, then released the helm - the ship didn't truly need him to guide it, not now - and made his way back to the throne Harlock had been lounging in for hours, through their conversation and lapsing into companionable silence.

Yama was a little surprised to see that Harlock had fallen asleep - perhaps more than he should have been; immortal or no, Harlock _was_ still a man, and he needed air and food and sleep, like any other man, however exceptional. It was somehow less surprising, after all Yama knew of _this_ man, to see that in sleep, his brow was now troubled and his thin mouth twisted into a grimace.

Of course Harlock fought with nightmares, even here.

He hesitated, then reached out, touching Harlock's brow, hoping either to soothe him or wake him, Yama wasn't sure which. Hoping Harlock would not wake by lashing out at him - but then, at least Yama might know what to _do_ with him, if he did. It was a reaction that would make sense.

Naturally, then, it was the opposite of what Harlock did. Ever since they had _properly_ met, the pair of them alone on the transport Yama had assumed would be the trap of his death, Harlock had only ever been unfathomable to him.

Rather than wake, lashing out like a man hunted for decades and haunted by his own mind might be expected to do . . . Harlock only stirred formlessly, still sleeping, and pushed his cheek almost into Yama's palm as he slid slightly sideways.

Yama didn't pull away, uncertain but not wishing to disturb Harlock.

He only rested there for a few moments before he did wake, opening his eye slowly but not moving. He didn't pull away from Yama's touch, didn't even look confused, only reached up to curl one hand around Yama's wrist, neither clasping tight nor pushing him away by the grip. Harlock looked up, meeting Yama's gaze from behind the dark curtain of his own hair.

Harlock shook his head minutely, then leaned forwards, slim legs crossing as he slid them to one side. Yama tried to step back only to be stilled by his wrist still held in Harlock's - his Captain's - light grip.

"Harlock?" Yama said quietly. His strong fingers closed almost painfully on Yama's wrist for an instant before Harlock's eye flicked over his expression and his grip loosened again, the sudden relaxation almost as much of a shock as the pressure had been.

Harlock nodded to him, another tiny gesture, then looked away as he leaned back in the throne once more.

Yama frowned, straightening slowly as he brought his arm back to his side. He watched Harlock carefully - the Captain never seemed to carry tension, or perhaps he was never _without_ it, and it was difficult to tell. . .

A shimmery movement at the edge of his vision and Yama looked only to find Miime walking onto the bridge. He felt a strange urge to dart away from the Captain, back to the safety of his place at the helm, to pretend-

Pretend what? That he hadn't touched Harlock? That Harlock hadn't fallen asleep on the bridge and fallen into a nightmare?

What had Yama done that was worthy of running from?

Miime gave a slow blink, her luminous eyes fixed on him - them? - though her delicate, long-legged steps neither slowed nor changed course, even when she turned her head to keep watching. Then she continued towards the depths of the engine, her hair, flowing like smoke, the last thing to slip out of sight.

Yama tore his gaze away and looked back to Harlock.

He reached out, slow but not hesitant - though he should be, he thought vaguely - and brushed the backs of his fingers against Harlock's scarred cheek. He turned his hand so the softer pads nearly cupped the Captain's jaw instead.

Harlock kept his gaze, and Yama found that he wasn't quite able to pull away, even when he thought that perhaps he should.

Barely a moment after that thought, Harlock closed his eye, bringing one hand up to cover Yama's, turning the touch from a barely-there brush to something that was almost a caress, though Yama didn't know if that had been his intention.

The furrow across his brow eased a little, though, and he tilted his head back to rest against the thinly-padded throne with a sigh. Yama hurriedly withdrew his hand the moment Harlock's own fell away, the spell preventing him from moving broken, and stepped back just as quickly.

Then, about to turn back towards the helm, he slowed and just . . . looked at his Captain.

Harlock opened his eye again, and . . . Yama supposed it could be called a smile, the slow, subtle curve of his lips as he caught Yama's gaze. He tilted his head, then smiled as well, dipping his head slightly before returning to the helm with a slower, more confident stride.

* * *

Written for the prompt 'nightmare'.


End file.
